


Far Away Lightning

by LamiaCalls



Category: Neopets
Genre: Biting, Enemies, F/M, Fighting, Scratching, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LamiaCalls/pseuds/LamiaCalls
Summary: The Battle Faerie Aethia is on a mission to rescue the faeries that Balthazar captured.
Relationships: Aethia/Balthazar (Neopets)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Far Away Lightning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [serephemeral](https://archiveofourown.org/users/serephemeral/gifts).



> This is set some time between Aethia receiving the twin blades and becoming the Battle Faerie, and the Virtupets Plot where the Space Faerie (Mira) defeats Dr. Sloth.

When she had been newly the Battle Faerie, just a few scant years ago, Aethia had thought the fact her hands shook in battle was a sign of weakness. It was only as she grew under the tutelage of her predecessor that she learnt that she was wrong. She was still young, still new to her post after pulling the twin blades out, but she was learning quickly: it was never weakness to be afraid, only weakness to act cowardly.

Too true was it also that the adrenaline coursing through her veins, along with the battle magic, also made it possible for her to fight as well as she did. And she had never lost a battle: at most, she had retreated when the price was too high.

So she paid little mind to her shaking hands as she broke the lock on the door before her. The night was empty, though not quiet: there was no such thing as silence in the Haunted Woods, with the ghastly calls that echoed through the trees.

Balthazar’s work shed was tucked into a clearing deep in the forest, so far from the town that even the Brain Tree’s deep rumbling was muffled.

The shed was no bigger than her own weaponry shop in Faerieland, enough for ten pets to comfortably stand in, with shelves running down the sides of the walls. There were no windows in his shed; Balthazar’s kind had keen night vision, she knew. Besides, the inside had its own lighting, in a way.

She had been there twice before, each time emerging with scratches from Balthazar’s ferocious claws, but, even so, her throat went dry at the sight laid out before her.

The walls were lined with frosted glass jars, each dimly shining a different light: reds, yellows, purples, greens, sharp blues. Even over the wailing of ghosts from the trees behind her, she could hear the whisper of tiny, muffled screams and the thudding of miniature fists against glass.

The jars were small, the fae in their shrunken state rather than their full glory.

She took a deep breath, and checked behind her, eyes searching the gnarled and tortured trees, the thick underbrush, the oft-deceiving shadows. There was no sign of Balthazar, nor anyone else corporeal for that matter.

She didn’t shut the door behind her, to allow Kreludor’s light into the cabin, and to ensure she had a route of escape. She moved quickly and quietly, using her wings to keep her weight off the creaking, moulding floorboards.

She took out the sack tied at her waist. Fyora had enchanted it, so that it acted as a portal to Faerieland. She took a jar off the shelf carefully, and slipped it into the sack. The opening in the brown fabric was small and the fit tight — the bigger the portal, the more unstable the magic — but she had gotten the hang of it now, on her third visit. The jars were screwed so securely and the faeries inside often too startled or shocked to talk sense into, so it made more sense for the jars to be opened on the other side of the portal.

She was only five faerie jars in when the cabin’s light source was obscured. She bit her lip, looked towards the door, knowing exactly what she’d find there. Quick as she could, she stashed the sack, and turned to face him, her face hardened and chin raised.

He seemed impossibly large, silhouetted in the doorway, Kreludor shining bright against his back. He stepped towards her, closing the door as he went and drenching them in grimy darkness. Only the soft glow of the faeries in their frosted glass shone, and his yellow eyes.

“You’re right not to draw your swords on me,” he said, his voice rumbling in the small space. She could not see his face still, her eyes adjusting to the dark, but she could hear the sharp smile that hid in his words. “What would the Times say, of a high-ranking faerie cutting a Neopian down in his own home?”

She held her ground, feet planted firmly, her hand on the hilt of one of her swords, Ice still in its scabbard, as he closed the gap between them. He hesitated for only a moment, before stepping around her, so that he was behind her. Her hand tightened on the sword. But she had learnt, by now, that he would not truly hurt her except in a fight. He had no dregs of honour, but she suspected he liked the game of battle.

She tried to keep her breathing steady, but it hitched involuntarily as Balthazar placed a sharp nail against the side of her neck.

“How many times do you suppose,” he said slowly, each syllable weighed out and measured in its exactness, “will I find you here, before you will learn your lesson?”

She swallowed. He dragged his nail against her neck, enough to smart but not enough to break her battle magic-hardened skin. Her eyes fluttered closed for just a moment. She hated the effect it had on her, but she liked it too much, still, to pull away.

“How long before you release these faeries?” she hissed into the darkness. “Until you do that, I will keep coming back.”

His laugh was low and humourless. “That’s not going to happen now, is it, little Aethia? In fact, I think perhaps I might take myself a nice new faerie…”

He grabbed at her left arm — that was her opportunity. She swung her right arm out, elbowing him in the gut without a moment’s hesitation. He grunted, and the floorboards creaked as he took a stumbling step back, but he didn’t release her arm. He stepped back close behind her, grabbing her left arm too, so that both wrists were held in one massive paw.

“Now that’s not very nice, is it?” he said through his teeth.

It was almost certainly true that she could have broken his hold on her; it was also almost certainly true that she didn’t much want to at that second. Her curiosity was piqued, especially when his free hand sunk into her hair, grabbing it, pulling her neck back, so his hot breath was on her face, and her own breath caused his fur to move. They had gotten close before — far closer than she would have admitted to anyone — but nothing like this. She swallowed and she saw his eyes follow the bobbing of her throat.

He licked his lips. She could lie to herself, about waiting for an opportunity to strike and not wasting a blow. But there was part of her that wanted more than just battle. Still, she would only allow herself to indulge it for a moment.

“Balthazar,” she breathed, but her voice was strained by the angle he held her at.

“Wouldn’t you make a fine faerie,” he said, voice low and rumbling, “to be held by me? Isn’t it dull, fighting? Wouldn’t it be more fun to just…give in?”

It was as if he were fae himself, and able to bend the mind with suggestion. But he was not, and Aethia knew it was weakness to pretend it was anything but her own body betraying her.

What was strength was not to listen to it.

“And what would you have me to give into?” Aethia said. She let her want soak into her words.

His yellow eyes flicked to hers, boring into her for a long, quiet, dreadful moment. Then his jaw set into a smile.

“To this, perhaps,” he said. He leant down, pulling her hair more tightly, and bit into her neck. She hissed as his fangs pierced her. Like her blades were twin Ice and Flame, so two were the feelings that made their way through her like a current, pain and pleasure mixed.

She pressed back against him, feeling his own excitement growing, and, privately and subtly as she could, tested the bounds of the paw that held her hands. They were gripped strong still.

When he relented, she took in lungfuls of air gratefully. Intoxicating.

“Perhaps,” she said, her voice thick whether she wanted it to be or not, “you might put that mouth to better use than just my neck.”

It was clumsy; she was not used to this. Faeries so rarely took lovers, and even rarer still would it be…this kind of lover. But she hoped the hardness she felt pressed against her back would be enough to dissuade him from questioning her.

He chuckled in her ear. “Is that right? Like here?”

He released her arms, and snaked that paw around her waist, trailing its way down to where he would find her wet if she let him.

But she wouldn’t let him. This was her chance.

She took a half-step forward, loathe though she was to leave the warmth of him that enticed her so. She used that space to flap her wings once, which gave her the momentum to jump into a backwards somersault, pulling her head sharply. It was enough to loosen his grip on her, but she still cried out for the few locks of purple she left behind in his claws.

Then she was behind him, pulling her Sword of Ice out, and placing it against his neck. She smiled to herself. There was nothing like getting the upper hand. A different kind of pleasure, but equally intoxicating.

“What, are you going to kill me, little faerie?” he said, laughing, though his tone wasn’t quite even enough to cover his surprise.

“I might,” she said simply, pulling the blade closer.

He laughed again, though not before drawing back from the blade.

“Your own Mira didn’t kill Dr. Sloth. No, I don’t think it’s in your lots’ nature to kill. It’s why Sloth will come back, and so will I.”

She snorted.

“Comparing yourself to Dr. Sloth, really?” she said. “I thought you’d have more pride than that, Balthazar.”

She tested the blade against his neck, liked the small whimper he made as he recoiled back from the slicing edge. She would have to press hard to hurt him, to get it through his fur, but he clearly knew she had the power to do so. His fur, at least, was frosting from the blade’s temperature. He was lucky she had not pulled Flame.

“Do you know what I think?” she said. “I think you’re going to go over into the corner, and watch as I take these faeries with me. And I think you won’t move again until I’ve done so. I also think it would be a good idea to listen since while, yes, I won’t kill you, I can still hurt you.”

“I’ll just get more next time,” he snarled, but she heard the tremble there. “It’s a fool’s errand.”

“Then I’ll happily be that fool,” she said. With her free hand, she grabbed the back of his head and pulled him towards her, mimicking their previous position. “For you, Balthazar, I’ll do whatever it takes until you learn your lesson.”

His turn to swallow. A fire was still burning within her, one that wanted to stay, to slam him against the shelves and show him her fury — and, she knew, he would surely show his back — but that wasn’t the prudent course of action. This time, at least.

Instead, she did exactly what she said: shuttled him into the corner with her sword, then used some cheap binding magic to ensure he stayed there. She took her time rounding up the jars, sending her sisters to safety, and she felt his eyes burning into her as she pressed each into her sack.

When she was done, she turned to him, smiling with satisfaction.

“Good boy,” she said, laughing to herself. He snarled in response. “See you next time, Balthazar.”

And with that, she ducked out of his cabin, and took flight, her skin singing in the cold air, the heat inside of her igniting not just for him, but also the promise of further fights until she had beaten him too thoroughly to continue with his cruelty.


End file.
